


Moving Tombs

by Omnibard



Series: Cathedral of You [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Boarding School, Cor is going to punch so many people, Cor the Professional, Drautos is asking to get punched, Interrogation, Other, Really Cor needs more sleep before yall worry about him jumping teenagers, Some insinuations of rape and sexual assault against minors, Telepathy, Vomiting, inmates running the asylum, insinuations of unprofessional and criminal behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 14:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13813485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibard/pseuds/Omnibard
Summary: Got questions?  Want to talk about it?Here's your mic!





	Moving Tombs

"How's that girl you picked up?" Drautos asked casually, wearing the hint of a smile that betrayed how _well_ he knew how that question sounded.  The rest of his expression, however, left no doubt that this was a _business_ question for which he wanted a _serious_ answer.

Cor had no intention of entertaining any _other_ kind of answer.  He respected Drautos as an experienced professional.  He was even comfortable enough with a certain level of less-than-professional boisterousness (as the Kingsglaive had a bit of a reputation, taking the mantra of "work hard, play hard" very seriously), but there was something vaguely off-putting about the man that made Cor unwilling to share personal details.

Clarus also faced him, waiting for an answer, "She's much more... stable.  Seems to be adjusting." Cor glanced at his superior, "My reports should be up to date as of 1500 yesterday."

The slight arching of Clarus's eyebrow confirmed that everything was in order with the paperwork, but Drautos waved his hand, "I don't give a damn about any reports, Leonis.  It's not like they come to me.  I trust you to leave out any mysterious, _sensitive Crownsguard_ secrets, but I want to know what you think.  Why is she at your apartment?"

"She was... declining... under traditional confinement.  There were concerns about her health and safety." Clarus replied smoothly.

Cor resisted the urge to clear his throat or snort, betraying his opinions for the Shield’s choice of words.

 

'Declining'.

_"Who are you?"_

  _"I'm dead.  I'm already dead.  I'm dead... I'm dead... I can't hear anything... not until you... Aren't I dead?" Confusion and horror on her face.  Voice hoarse from sobbing.  Eyes bloodshot and exhausted.  Guard said she wasn't sleeping or eating.  It's been three days._

  _"You're not dead, but you will be if you don't eat something.  Tell me who you are."_

  _"Cor..."_

 _"That's who_ **_I_ ** _am.  Who are_ **_you_ ** _?"_

  _"...If... If I tell you what I know... you...y-you have to p-promise to--"_

  _"--I'm not promising anything.   I'm not here for a deal and you're not in a position to bargain."_

  _"Please.  Please_ **_please_ ** _... Please..." Sobbing again, her words fading into pathetic, indiscernible mumbles._

  _He doesn't push harder.  Last time he pushed hard and scared her, she_ **_did something_ ** _and he thought his head was exploding..._

 

  _"I'm sorry!  I'm_ **_so_ ** _so sorry... I'm sorry.  I didn't... I didn't_ **_mean to_ ** _hurt you I was_ **_scared_ ** _..."_

  _"What are you talking about?"_

  _"I can hear you.  What you say inside."_

  _"You can..." He feels himself scowling.  It's not possible, "What?  You can hear what I'm thinking?"_

  _"Yes... But if I stay in here... I'm dead in here.  Please... I... There isn't much... but I'll tell you everything... Just please take me out of here.  I can't stay here.  I'm_ **_dead_ ** _here..."_

  _"Nobody is hurting you here."  He doesn't address her assertion that she can hear his thoughts.  Not_ **_yet_ ** _._

  _"No.  But I'm dead here--like I was dead_ **_there_ ** _. Please, he told me he would help me..._ **_please_ ** _, this is just another tomb... please... please I'm begging you... please..."_

  _"Who_ **_are_ ** _you?  You haven't given me any reason to trust you or want to help you."_

  _"Ariel.  My name is Ariel."_

  _"Why were you in that lab, Ariel?  What were they doing to you?"_

  _"I_ **_don't know_ ** _!  But it was dark... and I was alone... and I was dead."  Her voice is small._

  _"You weren't dead when my guy found you."_

  _"_ **_Please_ ** _..."_

  _"What do you want?"_

  _"Please don't leave me here..."_

 

 _The next day he has to call for the medic because he finds her lip and fingers bloody, with scratches on her throat.  The medic tells him and Clarus that her accommodations appear to be having a devastating psychological effect on her.  He recommends sending her to a hospital with a high-security psych ward.  Clarus considers it.  Cor considers it_ **_out of the question_ ** _.  He's not a doctor, but he knows what fear looks like.  The girl is legitimately frightened for her life, and it only makes sense to him that she'd be terrified of being enclosed in a sound-proofed box after being in an even_ **_smaller_ ** _one for gods knew how long.  It's not like her tears_ **_move_ ** _him.  He's a damn professional.  But she's a kid, and he's not made of stone.  He asks for permission to take her outside.  Clarus agrees.  Cor and a handful of Crownsguard escort 'Ariel' to the strip of grass behind the building, between it and the fifteen foot fence topped with razor wire.  Once outdoors, she blinks in the sunlight, shivers, and bursts into tears, sobbing her thanks.  After calming down, she's coherent and cooperative, conducting herself with thoughtful poise and dignity.  She does not try to escape, does not even_ **_look_ ** _for one.  Cor receives a text from Clarus, cutting the interrogation short._

  _"We... have to go back now." The girl says softly._

  _"Yes."_

  _"... Are... you going to leave me in that...that room again?" Terror creeps back into her voice, tightening around her eyes, draining the color from her face._

 

 _He doesn't answer her.  He meets Clarus and tells him he wants her to have frequent departures from the cell.  Clarus tells him the current facility can't support that--isn't_ **_meant_ ** _to support long-term confinement outside of solitary.  They're holding cells for interrogation before a prisoner is moved to the real prison.  He didn't want her in_ **_prison_ ** _did he?_

_No.  And not in a hospital either.  He needs her somewhere he can access her easily without worrying about a lot of interference from other agencies--or prisoners and patients for that matter.  But also somewhere where she isn't boxed in all hours of the day and night._

  _"Something like house arrest?" Clarus laughs a little, "That'd be fine if she had a house..."_

  _Cor considers.  Frowns.  Decides there's no help for it, "_ **_I_ ** _have a house." It wasn't the easiest solution, but it'd work until something better was dug up or a conclusion was reached about what to do with her._

  _"You have an_ **_apartment_ ** _."_

  _"It's big enough, but not too big, either, that she can get in trouble without me knowing and stopping her."_

_"This is highly irregular..."_

  _"Trust me, I know."_

  _"I'm not sure it's safe... perhaps not for either of you..."_

  _"It's more dangerous to put her with general pop.  Or a bunch of patients.  I won't risk any of the Crownsguard either."_

  _"Except yourself." Clarus says wryly._

  _"I can handle it.  Handle her."_

  _"That's only half my concern, Cor."_

  _Cor furrows under that sharp look, blinks, "What do you mean?"_

  _"I mean_ **_her_ ** _safety."_

  _Cor frowns, confused why the worry even enters his superior's thoughts, "... You know I won’t do anything inappropriate, Clarus."_

  _"Well, maybe not, but she apparently wants to hurt or kill herself."_

  _"I'll watch her.  I'm sure that'll... improve... after some time."_

 

Eight weeks and she still hadn't tried to escape or hurt herself.  Cor was satisfied his impressions had been correct.

 

"So why isn't she in a hospital?" Drautos pressed, "Cor is very good at what he does, but last I checked, his resume doesn’t include _therapist_."

 Cor folded his hands in front of him and let Clarus field that one, "At the time, we determined that her access to patients and our more limited access to _her_ were greater risks than any suppositions about her mental health.”

“Like I said: she's calmed down a great deal since then.  She's adjusting.  Eating.  Sleeping.  She conducts herself appropriately in public.  She's educated.  She's a--mostly--normal kid.  I don't think she needs to be committed to a psych ward." Cor finished.

" _'Kid'_?" Drautos looked at Clarus, confused, "I thought she was an adult... eighteen, you said?"

"About that, yes." The Captain nodded.

Cor shrugged.  He was thirty-nine.  He reserved the right to call anybody twenty-one years younger than him 'a kid'.  Especially if they weren't even _twenty-one years old_.

"And she conducts herself like an eighteen year old woman?" The Marshal had the impression the Captain of the Kingsglaive was digging at him.  He refused to let it bother him.

"I'm not exactly an expert in eighteen year old women," He admitted dryly, "Most Crownsguard are a little older by the time they get to me... But yes, she conducts herself like an eighteen year old."

 _And what's your point?_ He didn't add.

"Too old for a juvenile hall, then.  Still, there are a couple dormitories in town for troubled young people--"

"--She's not under criminal investigation and hasn't been charged with anything, Captain Drautos." Cor heard the bland stiffness in his tone and was glad it hid the sudden, inexplicable spark of defensive anger.  What was he getting upset about?  Drautos wasn't accusing him of anything--insinuating maybe--but not accusing...

"I agree with Cor," Clarus scratched his jaw absent-mindedly, "Until it becomes clear that her relationship with Niflheim was as anything other than its _victim_ , I will not consider any criminal charges.  The moment she enters that system, we lose _any_ chance of reliable information out of her."

Drautos shrugged and held up a hand, "If the Crownsguard is happy with the current situation as is, I'm not about to gainsay their decision.  I just wondered if perhaps the good Marshal's energies weren't being wasted babysitting a person of... shall we say 'indeterminate status'... when the city has other resources to support this need.  Besides, he might be relieved to not have to share his living quarters with such a person..."

The Marshal didn't want Clarus thinking Ariel was making problems for him.  She wasn't.  Driving a little out of his way to and from work wasn't a _problem_ .  Buying a few extra groceries wasn't a _problem_ .  Being able to question her from the comfort of his couch or driver's seat was _damned convenient_ .  Knowing she was safe and secure and not hurting people with her strange power was _a weight off his mind_.  He was quick to speak up, "She causes me less trouble than some of your Glaives, sir.”

"Likely more pliant and obedient, hm?" And Drautos grinned wolfishly.

Cor said nothing for what felt like several long seconds, focused on keeping his face blank and his fists from clenching.  Because that _did_ sound a little more like an _accusation_ , and the implications behind it threatened to fan that inexplicable spark into a flame and make him want to punch the Captain of the Kingsglaive square in the teeth.  He responded deadpan, "More dignified, anyway."

Drautos chuckled and Clarus seemed to relax--knowing Cor well enough after all these years to know what that sudden stillness might mean--and gestured to the Glaive, "Drautos made an excellent point, though.  There's a very short list of ways I and the King can employ you as things stand now.  It'd be... helpful, if Ariel could stay somewhere else."

"'Short list'?  I haven't noticed any changes to my duties or schedule..."

"Exactly.  Things are in motion, Cor, and it'll be problematic if we can't put you where we need you."

That _would_ be problematic.  Something cold gripped the Marshal's guts and he managed to stand just a hair straighter, "Where do you need me, Clarus?"

"Nowhere specific now.  But that might change soon.  I think it's best to have this situation with Ariel sorted out before then, don't you?"

"Unless you need to send me out of town for an extended period of time, it should be fine,"  Anything else could likely be handled over a phone call for a worst-case scenario.

"She under _24/7 Crownsguard_ watch--or roughly that, Cor.  If I send you out of town at all, those are hours I can't account for her.  Unless you suggest I have somebody else live in your place with her in the interim?"

"No." He didn't want another Crownsguard in his apartment with Ariel.   _Especially_ not at night.  Not while she still sometimes had nightmares.  The last one had blown every fuse in the building.  Also, he didn't _really_ think any of his people would be so unprofessional and downright criminal as to take advantage of her, but the Kingsglaive's insinuation had put the ideas in his head, making him defensive and critical about how it might _look_ , the _rumors_ that might spread.

Clarus sighed, "Do you think that's an acceptable risk?  To leave her unmonitored while you're gone?"

Furrowing his brow, the Marshal thought about the amount of time he knew she was completely unsupervised: the half-hour a day between when he dropped her off and she reported to the library and from the library to where he picked her up.  Even evenings when he left her at the apartment alone were monitored passively by the camera he'd had installed, anyway.  He didn't _think_ she knew about it--well unless she'd heard him think about it.  He was always careful to turn it on from his phone in the car so she wouldn't see him mess with it.  All in all, it was very little time, every day.  Could they really afford to watch her _less_?  How much did he actually know about her loyalties?  How long before he could be absolutely sure she wouldn't hurt herself or others?

He believed she was what she seemed to be, and that what she told him was true: she was a troubled young woman with strange abilities, who'd been sent to that lab by her affluent parents for reasons unknown, and that she couldn't remember anything else.  That she didn't want to hurt other people, despite the traumas she'd suffered that plagued her still, and that ultimately she wanted to be helpful to others, but was afraid of the harm she might cause in trying.

But he wasn't _convinced_ .  He still had questions she hadn’t or _couldn’t_ answer, and he'd been at this too long to ignore the threat she still represented. "No, sir.  I don't."

\----------------

Clarus had recommended a place by name.  Drautos had been able to schedule him an interview the next morning, apparently knowing the assistant director personally.  Cor had Monica clear his morning schedule and simply agreed to _try_.

"Did something happen at work?"

The question surprised him with its vagueness even more than its concern.  He'd quickly discerned that Ariel viewed him less as a gaoler and more of a guardian of some sort.  But usually if she asked, she was asking pointed questions concerning exactly what he was brooding about--because she already _knew_. "You don't know?"

"I told you... I don't hear you all the time.  Did something happen? Is everything okay?"

Taking a breath, Cor refocused on the road.  Traffic was light for the moment, but would pick up after the next intersection, “We’ll talk about it at the apartment.”

He noticed her open her mouth as if to reply from his peripheral, but she apparently changed her mind and settled against the window, folding her arms tightly and staring out the windshield.  Cor’s apprehension for what the evening might hold increased.

He’d give it to her straight, of course.  No reason to dance around the issue.  But he had no idea how she might take it.

“Well… I, um…”

“What?”

“... Today I… saw the Prince.  At the school.”

The Marshal was grateful for the red light.  It gave him opportunity to _turn and look_ at Ariel with a sharp gaze.

She sighed, slumping some in the seat, as if withering under his scrutiny, “... I didn’t talk to him.  I was in the library and he walked by.  He didn’t even look at me.  Some other kids were saying ‘Look, it’s the Prince.’  That’s all.  I couldn’t even _hear_ him.”

“Good.” Cor said, and meant it.

 

Ariel seemed surprised when he parked in front of the building instead of dropping her off.  Surprise gave way immediately to apprehension, he noticed.  Her arms crossed once more when she exited the vehicle and followed him to the entrance.  Cor returned the doorman’s greeting and went to the elevators.  He used to almost exclusively take the stairs-- regardless of the number of flights-- but with Ariel, the stairs provided too many opportunities for her to get away from him.

Not that she’d ever seemed to want to _try_.  Still, Cor wasn’t going to lax security.  Especially not now.

The apartment lights were on and the Marshal’s hand tightened around the saya that appeared in his hand, hailed and retrieved from the Armiger reflexively.  He was _used_ to coming home to lights on, but that was because Ariel was already _here_ .  Why were the lights on _now_?

“What’s--”

“--Shh.”

She obeyed and he took a cautious step inside, senses sharpened.

“... Are you--Cor nobody else is here.  The lights?” Apparently she could hear his thoughts _now_ , “I leave the lights on now… when I leave.  So it’s not dark when I come back.  I’m sorry.”

She stepped in behind him and closed the door.  The Marshal glanced over his shoulder at her, then moved to check the apartment _anyway_.

“Sit on the couch.  Don’t move from there.” He pointed at the furniture in question, then went to have his search.

The bedrooms and bathroom were empty and undisturbed.  The windows still closed and untampered with.  When he returned to the living area, he found Ariel sitting on the couch watching him, flickering expressions of nervousness and dread on her face.

“Really.  It was just me.  I’m… I’m really sorry.  I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.   I’ve been doing it for… about two weeks now on days that you work and take me to the library.”

Cor realized that meant he’d been working late every night since then to have never noticed.  Yeah.  It was worse than he thought.  Like Clarus had been saying--

“ _What_?”

Shit. “Don’t get upset.  You getting upset from things you’re snooping from my head isn’t something I’m willing to put up with.” It came out harsher than he wanted, but it _did_ bother him how she’d done it and thrown off his timing.

“Wh… How am I…” She was starting to stand up, fear more plain on her features now, but her dark eyes were wide with shock and something wounded, “... Well then how about you just _tell me_ how you’re planning on locking me up so I can be upset about it!”

“I told you to _sit_.” He said firmly, “And calm down.”

She reversed her efforts, settling stiffly on the couch again, “D-Did I do something _wrong_?”

“No.” Taking a moment to shrug out of his blazer and lay it over the back of the couch, the Marshal paced a few steps before settling in his usual stance-- feet apart, hands folded lightly in front of him, the katana dismissed back to its magic resting place, “That’s not what this is about.”

“Am I making problems for you?  Are you in trouble at work?”

“No.  This is about what’s best for you--”

“-- I want to stay _here_ , with you.”

It struck him, to hear it out loud.  He’d known about her contentment here already, but to hear her pronounce that she wanted to stay here _with him_ , gave him pause. “... It’s not about what you want.  It’s about what’s best for you _and_ the city.”

“How is it _better_ for me if I leave?”

“You’ll have better access to medical professionals who can help you with your anxiety and fears.  You won’t have to wait on me and my schedule.  You’ll have access to everything you need and someone to watch out for you.” That’s what Drautos had assured _him_ of, anyway.

“I don’t need medical care!  I don’t need doctors asking me _more questions_ about why I feel afraid of hurting people-- or are you sending me somewhere where they know about the things I can do?”

“No, that’s--”

“-- Are…” Her teeth clenched together and the lights flickered very briefly before she said very tightly, “... Are you sending me somewhere to _study_ me?”

“No, dammit.  Calm the hell down.” Exhaling out the nose, Cor pinched between his eyes, “Are you going to let me tell you or are you going to take wild stabs at it all night?”

Her fists were clenched on her thighs, white-knuckled.  She was trembling, and the Marshal wondered if it was _anger_ , “ _Why_ do I have to go?  Why can’t I stay here?  Do you just _want_ me to leave?”

 _Right about now?  Maybe…_ he sighed. “I _told_ you: it’s best for you and the city.  You’re still a ward of the Crownsguard, and whereas your case is… very damn unique… there are still regulations and protocols.”

“So you’re in trouble at work--” He cut her a glare.  She silenced, colored, and looked aside, “... Sorry.  Go ahead.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” It was almost a sneer accompanied by a roll of the eyes, but then he remembered himself and continued quietly, “Nobody is in trouble.  Cut the theatrics.  This is part of my job.   _You’re_ part of my job-- you being here.  You made good progress here, but now it’s better to move on.”

She blinked at him, fists still clenched, that wounded (betrayed?) look in her eyes.

“You’re not getting locked up.  It’s a regulated dormitory.  You won’t be alone, but you’ll have your own space.”

Her dark eyes met his, “... Can I ask another question?”

“Will I regret saying ‘yes’?”

Her gaze didn’t waver.  Her tight expression never flickered, “Do you still think I’m a Niflheim spy?  Some agent or weapon of the war?”

“I don’t know.  Neither do _you_ if you’re telling the truth.”

“Do you think I’m telling the truth?”

Now it was the Marshal’s turn to fold his arms over his chest, “You can read minds-- you’ve proven _that_ \-- you tell me.”

“I can’t hear you now.  It’s not… reliable,” She frowned, “Makes for a poor _weapon_ …”

“Prototypes work like that, and you’re the first we’ve ever encountered.”

Ariel shook her head, “That’s _awful_ , you know!  Are you teasing me?  Or do you seriously think I could be something like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Answer my question, will you?  Do you think I’ve been telling you the truth?  Do you _believe me_ ?  That I don’t remember, that my parents put me in there and I don’t know why… that I don’t want to hurt you… I never meant to break all the electronics… or make all the trouble I’ve made for you… Do you _believe_ me?”

Frowning, the Marshal’s eyes narrowed, “Let’s say, for the sake of the conversation, I say ‘ _yes’_.”

“But you don’t?!”

“I didn’t say that.  Let’s say I say ‘yes, I believe you.’”

“... Well… then thank you.”

“Sure.  And if I don’t?”

“... Then I’m… I’m sorry.” Tears overflowed, streaming down her face, “... I really… really don’t want to be your enemy.”

“That’s a good attitude to have.”  He said it blandly, deadpan.  He didn’t want her to think her tears moved him-- not that she’d done much crying since coming here, honestly-- though he _did_ feel a twinge of discomfort.  It went ignored.  He had experience in carrying a profound sense of _guilt._

\---------

She was subdued and withdrawn in the morning, sulking.  Still, she’d complied with his every instruction-- packing her meager belongings in the car trunk and even stripping the bed in the guest room, leaving the mattress to air and the bedclothes sorted to be laundered later.

It was a long drive, through traffic, as the dormitory was in another sector of Insomnia altogether.  The silence stretched.  Cor watched her stare out the passenger window from his peripheral, surveying the city.

Princen Hall was a large ‘H’ shaped building, that, combined with it’s fenced grounds and small security building, took up an entire city block in between uptown and the commercial utilities sector.  Ariel slowly cringed as they approached, rolling into the front drive, after getting buzzed in at the call box at the gate of the black wrought-iron style fence--probably made of steel.  Cor had to admit it looked a little more like a prison than he’d thought, except for a great many windows that probably never opened.

 

Cor was four steps from the passenger side door he’d opened expectantly for Ariel to get out-- she had, still obedient-- when he felt her grab his wrist, fingers catching mostly in the cuff of his blazer, but the fingernails of two managed to bite into his skin.  Her hand was ice-cold.

The Marshal wasn’t used to being grabbed and held-- certainly not in public outside of a fight, and certainly not for any kind of reassurance or comfort.  Likewise, Ariel had never displayed before any desire to touch him or anybody else.  So he glanced back at her, but did not stop walking.

Neither did she.  She wasn’t trying to restrain him.  She wasn’t trying to delay or slow him.

She was just holding on to him with her bloodless hand, a grim, bloodless mask on her face, and the marriage of stark terror and the vestiges of determination whirling in her dark eyes.  She did not meet his look, staring straight ahead of her, lips pressed firmly together, jaw clenched hard enough he thought he could hear her teeth grind.

He’d seen this look before, right before she started screaming her head off and the electronics exploded.

But she didn’t scream.  She kept pace and held his wrist.

The Marshal could admit he was… kind of proud of her.  A little.

So he didn’t pull his wrist away.

The lobby was wide but not deep, the door to the Administration Office just eight strides away.  An older woman with short, graying hair was crossing from the hallway on the left to the hallway on the right.  She gave Cor a patient, somewhat warm look-- she probably saw adults bring in teens fairly frequently in this condition-- but when she did a double-take to confirm that she’d seen _Cor, Marshal of the Crownguard_ escorting a young woman clinging to his wrist, the office door was already closing behind them.

 

It was a stuffy, but large office with two desks, a round woman with too much makeup at one and a middle-aged man-- Cor’s age easily, but less gracefully-- in suspenders and a tie at the other.  The man was at the bigger desk, and he stood up and invited them over to the lounge chairs in front of it.

The man-- the small placard sign on the desk said the name Drautos gave him, so this was probably the assistant director-- offered a handshake that Cor didn’t even look at.

“Sit.” He commanded the deathly pale young woman who had an even tighter death-grip on his wrist.  She sat.

The assistant director introduced himself, still holding out his hand, and Cor continued to ignore the offer.  Instead he told him who he was and said he was here about the admission interview he should have received word about from the Citadel.

The man finally dropped his hand and invited Cor to sit, which he did, if only because it would keep Ariel from tearing his blazer sleeve off his arm.  Her nails were digging in as if trying to draw blood.  He could hear her trying to control her breathing and doing a poor job of it.

The assistant director did _not_ sit.  Standing behind his desk, standing over them with his broad smile, Cor got a greater taste of that off-putting thing he always experienced from being around Drautos, but still could not name.

In a deeply rehearsed voice, the man started his canned speech-- about the accolades of the dormitories and school, about the rules and schedule, and about his assurances that this would be a great fit to serve the needs of the Citadel and the Crownsguard-- which they were _always_ happy to do.

The Marshal let him have fifteen uninterrupted seconds of it before cutting him off with his questions about their preparations made specifically for the girl next to him.

To his credit, the man in the suspenders was able to answer each question instead of fumble uselessly, but it was clear Cor had thrown off his pacing.  He was answering one of the many questions in this grilling, and gaining a sort of confidence and momentum, when Cor suddenly lunged forward without actually leaving his seat, and grabbed the rectangular rubbish bin placed near the corner of his desk, and bringing it back toward himself just in time for Ariel to vomit into.

As well as all over his hand below the wrist she was squeezing the circulation of.

The assistant director gaped, convinced he was about to watch Cor the Immortal murder a young woman in his office.  But the Marshal didn’t even flinch.  He just gave the other man a steady, narrow-eyed look, cocking an eyebrow, and speaking perfectly even-- deadpan even.

“Can I get a towel.”

Spluttering, the man hurried away from his desk.

 

“I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No it’s n-not… Cor… Cor _please_ don’t leave me here…!”

She was whispering; his voice a low mutter, rumbling from somewhere in his chest, “What’s wrong.”

She told him in a hurried, shaking whisper, still clinging to his wrist despite the cooling vomit on his hand.  She talked about broken locks and broken curfews.  She talked about too many troubled young people and not enough adults willing to risk their necks to stop dangerous behavior.  She talked about fear and anger and theft and brawls and kids up at night making shanks instead of doing homework.  She talked about rape-- student on student as well as staff on student.

He listened like a stone, expressionless and silent.  Then she said,

“... And he _hates_ you!”

Cor knew at once who she was referring to: the assistant director.  He snorted.

“He hates you.  He hates you so much for walking into his office, spitting in the face of his attempts at courtesy, interrupting him-- being _taller_ and _younger_ than him…”

A tiny twitch at the corner of his lip might have tried to be something like a bark of harsh laughter.

“He hates you… and he’s going to…”

Cor let the silence last for exactly three whole seconds. “What.”

“... He’s going to take it out on me.  Because… he thinks it might… do something to you.”

The Marshal said nothing, and waited for the other man to return.

He did in a few moments with a fist full of paper towels, muttering apologies, stooping to offer them.  Cor took hold of them, but before the other could straighten again, the man in suspenders found himself pinned by a sharp look from the Immortal.

Not a single word was exchanged, and it only lasted a second or two, but during that time, the standing man’s complexion had bleached and turned blotchy.  He’d begun to sweat profusely, and his hands started to shake.

Ariel watched, and heard the violence of his hatred increase with his terror.

Then the Marshal looked away and wiped up his hand, passing over a paper towel so she could use it to wipe her mouth.  The assistant director retreated to his chair behind his desk and sat down like he’d just finished running a marathon, but tried desperately to regain his composure, flashing tight smiles and saying useless things he probably thought were encouraging or consoling.

“Thank you for your time.” Cor deadpanned and rose smoothly to his feet, dragging Ariel up by her elbow, ignoring the bloody scratches he’d earned when jerking free of her death grip.  Then he turned and marched her out of the office and back to the passenger side door of his car, which he opened, just like before.

Ariel was crying silently in his grasp, but once again kept pace.  Cor mused they made an even _stranger_ picture this way.

In the driver’s seat, he texted Monica to open up an investigation on Endo Stillinkris and the rest of the staff of Princen Hall.

Then he called Clarus, switching on the car’s hands-free and pulling out of the drive again while Ariel huddled in on herself and wept soundlessly.

“Cor?  Are you finished with the interview already?”

“It’s not going to work, Clarus.”

“Cor…”

“No.  Find something else.”

“There isn’t any place with a better budget in the city--”

“-- Not good enough.”

“What happened?”

“Tell Captain Drautos I’m making his friend’s life hard for the next sixth months.   _Me_.”

 

Ariel heard them talk a little more over the stereo speakers, sitting silent, afraid to make any noise.  Just so _grateful_ to be out of that place.  The man she didn’t know-- Clarus, Cor called him--sounded care-worn and tired, and mildly frustrated that the Marshal had made this decision.  Cor said sharp words with a bland, toneless voice that only made them seem sharper while concealing everything else about them.

 

“You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you, Cor…” Clarus sighed after a moment of silence left by the things he’d just heard from the expressionless driver.

Cor didn’t answer, but Ariel thought Clarus knew his answer anyway.

“Well fine.  But then you’d better bring her in--”

“No, Clarus--”

“-- _Yes_ , Marshal.” Clarus retorted, sounding imperious and _final_ , “Bring her in.  Tomorrow.  To see me and to see the king.”

**Author's Note:**

> Got questions? Want to talk about it? [Here's your mic! ](https://mtraki.tumblr.com/ask)


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